The price of a night; the son-in-law revenge

“Damn! Why am I naked?” I turned beside me, Holy Moses! Who is this man beside me?” Okay, it better not be what I am thinking. I am hallucinating, turning with a sharp pounding in my head. It felt like a thousand hammers striking against my skull. My body felt way heavier than a block of stone. I forced my eyes opened as my lashes fluttered weakly. The sharp pounding in Zoe’s head felt like a thousand hammers striking against her skull. Each throb dragged her deeper into confusion, and her body felt heavier than a block of stone. She forced her eyelids open, her lashes fluttering weakly until the surrounding room came into focus. But nothing she saw made sense. This was not her room. The curtains, faded and cheap, barely covered the window. The dull beige walls screamed mediocrity. The faint stench of cigarette smoke hung in the air, clinging stubbornly to the bedsheets. Zoe froze as she realized the sheets were not just covering her—they were the only thing covering her. Naked. Her breath hitched, panic rising like a storm in her chest. She shifted and then—her entire body stiffened. There was someone beside her. Zoe jerked her head to the right, and her heart skipped a beat. A stranger lay there, half-awake, undressed, his chest bare and rising with each calm breath. His messy dark hair fell slightly over his forehead, but his blue eyes—icy and piercing—suddenly opened and locked on her. He stared as though she was the only thing alive in the world. Her stomach twisted. She wrapped the sheet tighter around her trembling body, her heart racing faster than her thoughts. “What the hell?!” she gasped, her voice breaking through the silence. The man stirred, groaning slightly as though he had been resting peacefully until now. He reached for the glasses resting on the nightstand, slid them on, and rose slowly from the bed, his muscular frame moving with an unsettling calmness. Then, to Zoe’s horror, he smiled. “Last night was incredible,” he said, his voice low and steady, as though speaking about something casual—like weather. He leaned closer, his lips curving. “Want to continue?” Before she could process his words, he tilted forward, aiming for her lips. SLAP! Zoe’s palm met his cheek with a c***k so sharp it echoed in the tiny room. He didn’t stagger, but the mark of her anger blazed across his face. The man blinked, more surprised than hurt. “Why the slap? You were all over me last night.” His tone wasn’t defensive—only curious, as if her fury made no sense at all. Zoe glared, her chest heaving. “Who the hell are you?! What did you do to me?” He calmly reached for a bottle of water on the table, twisted it open, and extended it toward her. “Here. You’ll feel better.” The gesture was too casual, too insulting. Zoe’s rage boiled over. She smacked the bottle from his hand, water splattering across the floor. “I said—who are you?!” Her voice cracked like thunder, a storm of anger and fear wrapped into one. The man only frowned, confusion evident in his eyes. “Ethan. Ethan Blackwood. And I didn’t do anything to you. I saved you.” Her brows furrowed. “Saved me?” “Yes.” His tone was calm, too calm, as though her fury amused him more than it threatened him. “You were in trouble last night. Some men outside the club…they were going to hurt you. I stepped in.” Zoe’s mind spun. The headache flared again, and images flashed across her memory like sharp fragments of broken glass. Music—loud and thumping. The scent of alcohol. Rough hands grabbing her wrist. Her own screams muffled by the night. Then, a man—this man—standing against them, fighting, dragging her away. Her stomach lurched. But no. No, she couldn’t believe him. “You liar.” Her voice was trembling but fierce. “You drugged me. That’s the only explanation. Do you know who I am?!” Ethan raised a brow, his expression unreadable. “No, but I can see you’re someone who likes to scream a lot.” Her nostrils flared. “Zoe White. First daughter of the White Empire. Soon-to-be managing director of the White Group. Men chase me—I don’t chase them. Especially not strangers in…” Her eyes darted around the shabby room, disgust crawling on her skin. “…in cheap hotels with cracked phones and tacky bracelets.” Her gaze landed on his wrist—an old, worn-out bracelet of black leather. Her lips curled in disdain. “Poor taste. Clearly not my type.” Ethan chuckled softly, the sound low and irritating. “Believe whatever helps you sleep. But the truth is—I didn’t touch you. You touched me.” Another slap cracked across his cheek before he could say more. Ethan’s grin faltered for the first time. His eyes hardened, but he didn’t retaliate. Instead, he leaned back, rubbing his jaw slightly. “You’ve got a strong hand for a princess.” Her pulse raced. She wanted to scream, to throw something, to make him vanish. But just then—another memory stabbed through her skull. A clearer one this time. She saw Ethan, fists flying against the men who had cornered her. She saw herself clinging to him, begging him not to leave her. She remembered tears streaming down her cheeks as fear consumed her. Her body froze. Her knees buckled. “Oh no…” she whispered, falling onto the edge of the bed, her hand covering her mouth. “How did this happen?” Ethan tilted his head, watching her unravel, his blue eyes glinting with something unreadable. But Zoe didn’t wait for more explanations. She scrambled for her clothes, hastily pulling them on, her fingers trembling so much she nearly tore the buttons off her blouse. She avoided his gaze, avoided everything, and bolted for the door. “Zoe—” Ethan started, but she was already gone. --- The morning sun was merciless, its brightness stabbing at her eyes as she rushed into her car. The headache still throbbed, but a greater panic gnawed at her. The meeting. She was supposed to meet the representatives from B-COP—the conglomerate her father had pushed her so hard to secure. It was her moment to prove herself, to show she was worthy of the White Empire. And now—she was late. Over an hour late. Her hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white as she sped through traffic. The shame of the hotel clung to her like smoke, but she shoved it aside. Focus. Just get to the meeting. When she finally burst through the glass doors of the White Group boardroom, her heart sank. Empty chairs. Silent walls. No foreign representatives. Only two people sat at the long table: her father, Reginald White, and her younger sister, Lila. Zoe froze, her breath catching in her throat. “Father—I…” She forced her lips to move, already scrambling for a lie. “I overslept, while preparing for the presentation. I didn’t mean to be late, I—” SLAP! The sound cracked through the room before she even finished. Her father’s hand had struck her with such force that she stumbled, crashing against the polished table, her palm scraping across its edge. The sting burned across her cheek, but the greater pain was in her chest—humiliation, sharp and suffocating. “Father…” she whispered, trembling. “Why…?” Reginald’s face was stone, his eyes blazing with fury. “You dare come here with excuses?” She shook her head, tears threatening to fall. “I swear, I was—” Before she could speak further, he reached for a folder on the table. His movements were cold, precise, as though he had rehearsed this moment. He pulled out a stack of glossy photos and flung them across the table. The pictures scattered, some sliding to the floor, some flipping face-up before her. Zoe’s eyes fell on them—and her blood ran cold. There she was. Her own face, twisted in laughter and flushed with drink. Her own body, clinging desperately to Ethan Blackwood. His arm around her waist. Her lips against his. The hotel room bed, captured in the background like a silent witness. Her throat tightened, her world collapsing in on itself. “Explain this,” her father’s voice thundered, each word like a blade. Zoe stared at the photos, her trembling hands reaching out but stopping short of touching them. Her breath came in short, shallow gas ps. Her sister’s mocking smile burned in the corner of her vision. And in that moment, Zoe knew—her nightmare was only beginning.